


Mind Just Went (Oblivion)

by ambivalentangst



Category: Iron Man (Comics), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Dark Tony Stark, Extremis (Marvel), Extremis Tony Stark, F/M, POV Tony Stark, Superior Iron Man, Superior Iron Man Vol 1. (2015)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:21:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24811474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ambivalentangst/pseuds/ambivalentangst
Summary: After years of experimentation, Tony sits in his lab, processing wave after wave of information available to him with a mere thought, and he realizes that the average person simply wouldn’t be capable of managing the stress of it all, the exabytes of data just there for the taking, even in the barest bones of Extremis’s fullest iteration.Maybe he should feel bad that his invention, his great safety net to show his goodness, won’t reach the masses like he originally wanted.Tony stares at his hand, and at his whim, a blaster congeals on top of it, every bit as lethal as the ones he used to have to attach manually.(Maybe he should feel bad, but he doesn’t.)Tony has always been told he’s too smart for his own good.//Or, a look at what it would take for Tony of the Marvel Cinematic Universe to become somethingsuperior.
Relationships: James "Rhodey" Rhodes & Tony Stark, Natasha Romanov & Tony Stark, Steve Rogers & Tony Stark, brief Pepper Potts/Tony Stark
Comments: 20
Kudos: 161
Collections: Marvel





	Mind Just Went (Oblivion)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [makifa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/makifa/gifts).



> I really thought I was done writing SIM with my other fic about him, but then a) I remembered [this](https://sreppub.tumblr.com/post/617067741198811137/concept-mcu-sim) gorgeous art (amongst other amazing SIM drawings) by [sreppub](https://sreppub.tumblr.com) on tumblr (makifa on Ao3) and b) sreppub’s birthday rolled around, so I delved into his bastard self again to bring him to life in the MCU. At any rate, happy birthday Ali!! You’re the best, and the rest of you should check her work out. <3

In the ashes of the incident with the Mandarin, Tony doesn’t begrudge his team, exactly. They’ve only just come together, after all, but his life was in danger. His house came down around him; even _Pepper_ thought he was dead—Pepper who has seen him claw his way out of a cave and poisoning and an entire fucking wormhole—and he _gets_ that it all happened fast, but he just thought one of them might be there.

So yes, the team is new, and yes, Tony understands, but the inkling remains that when push comes to shove, when the world comes closing in again as it has been prone to do ever since the bomb first pockmarked his heart, he could be on his own, and Tony prides himself on planning for every eventuality, from market trends to the various threats that crawl out of the woodwork to make his life hell.

Extremis isn’t suited to Pepper for a number of reasons—her opinion, not his, because having his girlfriend save his ass is super hot, to be perfectly honest. However, the idea of fixing so much of the world with a little shot? That’s too tantalizing to resist, even as he plucks the flames from her marrow.

It’s not dangerous to play with fire if he _knows_ he’s in control. For all of Tony’s many faults, he is fully aware of his mental capabilities, and Extremis is a drop in the ocean in terms of all the obstacles he’s faced. If he can revolutionize clean energy by rummaging through terrorists’ trash, it stands to reason that he can contribute to the medical field, even if the woman who started the project in the first place got a bullet to the chest. It’s not arrogance, not then, just the desire to help and a defined sense of his own genius.

Tony has always been told he’s too smart for his own good, but he doesn’t see anything wrong with lending a hand to society any way he can.

It’s not like it _consumes_ him. There’s a little snafu with HYDRA along the way he has to help sort out—the Avengers, in general, are a lot to fund and oversee, really. By all means, it’s a side project for a long time, but then after Ultron, well—

It occurs to him that not even Iron Man can hold up the globe—or a city, as it were—entirely on his own, but if the man inside the can could be made of slightly stronger material, then that opens up so many more possibilities. A suit of armor around the world clearly isn’t an option—he’ll never forget the scorn his teammates showed him for ever having entertained the idea—but bolstering one man to do the job on his own—

It all falls back on the idea of control, and if all the development is happening within his own body, there won’t be any blind spots for errors on an Ultron-level scale.

(And if thinking of his helplessness against Wanda, the chokehold Thor put him in, spurs him along, nobody needs to know except the bots, which are privy to more than one secret confessed in the ramblings produced from being three-days deep into a workshop bender and increasingly frayed at the edges.)

Tony solved Extremis as Maya Hansen knew it a long time ago, but that’s not what he’s after, at that point. Anyone can be perfect, but Tony’s creations are and always have been _extraordinary._

Tony has always been told he’s too smart for his own good, but he loves the shock-turned-admiration on people’s faces every time he goes above and beyond maybe more than is healthy.

Extremis bolsters the body, but what if, more than healing the ache of his back or phantom pain in his chest, it took someone and connected them to something larger?

Tony likes that idea very much, likes all that power—that _security_ —at his fingertips, though technically, it didn’t have to be _him_ in control. He’s making it for the world, of course.

(He’s making it for the world, right?)

It takes late nights and code and long days and more code and the wee hours of the morning and even _more_ code, but Tony creates a link between Extremis and the internet. True, eliminating the possibility of the AIs at his command being knocked out of commission—again—is nice, but there’s potential for Extremis to be released to the public. He would limit its true abilities, yes. He has no desire to give the average Joe the equivalent of a personal, exceptionally high-functioning AI, but in its most rudimentary form, it could at the very least obliterate the need for a phone. After all, there’s no reason to physically carry a mini-computer when one’s mind could carry out its functions instead, and that doesn’t even begin to cover the breakthrough it presents for the healthcare industry.

At that stage, Extremis is a marvel of engineering, already beyond what anyone previously thought possible, which is what Tony wanted. That was going to be all, really. That was going to be all, he _swore_ , except when he was done, the next upgrade appeared, lurid and draped in gold and hot-rod red.

What if he never had to endure the vulnerability of being separated from Iron Man again?

Tony has always been told he’s too smart for his own good, but it’s _not_ a suit of armor for all of Earth, just him, and when he holds the reins, he will be able to do so much more good than before.

Steve and Natasha and the rest of them are staying active, and while they traipse through other countries, Tony begins to hear talks of Accords, of limiting the damage the Avengers inevitably leave in their wake. Tony _has_ to find a handle, _has_ to prove he’s capable of good again after Ultron—because the team never says it out loud anymore, but their judgment pairs with his guilt to tell him they still remember who breathed him to life—and he’s shoved magnets under his skin before; what’s a little more?

He doesn’t tell Rhodey, busy with the military and his duties as War Machine.

He doesn’t tell Pepper. They’re taking a _break_ by then, anyway, which is a kind way to skirt around her building apprehension towards Tony holing himself up for days on end in the lab, his increasingly frantic eyes and twitching fingers, the rabid eagerness he has to return to projects he’s, quote, _“infuriatingly_ vague about.”

(He can’t tell her! It’s going to be a _surprise_ , and Extremis is a touchy subject between the two of them at the best of times.)

He doesn’t tell _anyone_ , and as a result, there is no one to yank him back as he staggers leg-bowing-ly, neck-craning-ly into his research, falling off the edge of a cliff he never knew he was on.

Seven months before the events of Lagos, Tony holds a syringe up to the light, the last of many injections, admiring its color, a blue so bright it nearly glows. Then, he slides it under his skin.

Tony has always been told he’s too smart for his own good, but feeling liquid strength ooze through his veins in a rush of metallic, bracing ice, he can’t seem to understand the thought.

Tony sits in the lab, processing wave after wave of information available to him with a mere thought, and he realizes that the average person simply wouldn’t be capable of managing the stress of it all, the exabytes of data just there for the taking, even in the barest bones of Extremis’s fullest iteration.

Maybe he should feel bad that his invention, his great safety net to show his goodness, won’t reach the masses like he originally wanted.

Tony stares at his hand, and at his whim, a blaster congeals on top of it, every bit as lethal as the ones he used to have to attach manually.

(Maybe he should feel bad, but he doesn’t.)

He pulls himself to his feet, and even that is different, the motion lithe and sinuous in a way he didn’t know it could be. Despite the suit he’s just built into himself, he feels so much lighter than before, and without knowing why, his lips arrange themselves into a pantomime of his smile, much colder than it’s ever been before.

After years of paranoia, planning for every outcome, it is a release he never could’ve dreamed to know that he is untouchable, invincible.

He has yet to tap into it, but the power in his new, _superior_ form has the ferocious allure of a siren’s song. He knows exactly what he is, and he knows exactly how he cannot be torn apart. He is suddenly so above everything he had previously cared about, it’s almost unbelievable, and from his lofty perch, it strikes Tony that he has turned himself into a paragon.

Tony has always been told he’s too smart for his own good, but he is not conscious enough of what he used to be to realize that something has been lost to make room for the raw strength he now possesses in droves.

Tony feels sure, feels confident, feels his back stooped with stress straighten back out, and the grin he wears grows a touch manic with the literal light that comes into his eyes, blue and utterly electric as he raises his gauntlet and fires because he can.

He watches with satisfaction as a glass pane breaks under the impact, and it seems, for all the world, like Tony’s inhibitions shatter alongside it.

What was he so _afraid_ of? That his team didn’t care about him? That no one did? That he was doing more harm than good? It seems ridiculous, now. Even if that was the case, he doesn’t _need_ anyone, and he certainly can’t be responsible for anything falling to ruin. How could someone with his foresight—the probabilities he can calculate, analyze, compare, and calculate again, the statistics roaming his mind, ready for examination as soon as he so desires, the sheer _data_ he could plow through for the rest of his life and never truly touch—ever be fully in the wrong?

Reality has arranged itself in a labyrinth of zeros and ones only he can navigate, and Tony can’t believe he went his whole life without things made so beautifully simple.

He glances down at the gauntlet, admiring its glittering chrome, its pulsing blue. It’s set up in exact contrast to his old armor, and it’s perfect; a living symbol of his change from mere human to god.

Tony smiles, and the metal leaches into his skin as he strolls out of the lab, the project he has been laboring under for so long finally completed, and feels freer than ever.

(It’s a question no one’s ever mutilated so thoroughly, can man become one with machine, and made new, Tony is incapable of seeing any merit in the humanity he has sacrificed in his quest to protect.)

Tony has always been told he’s too smart for his own good, but how could anything be wrong with what feels so _right?_

He allows the others to adjust to the change as they like, but Steve is the first to find out.

The different phases of the injections took time to administer, and by the time the process is done, it’s rather late at night.

(Tony doesn’t feel tired, which comes to him as a shock because he’s _always_ tired these days, one breeze from toppling over and splintering into a million pieces, but then, that’s one of many improvements he’s made to himself.)

Steve, Tony knows, has nightmares, of cold, of drowning, of fading out of consciousness at James Barnes’s hands, and as such, it’s nothing new to find him at the counter of the common room, staring into the depths of a mug of peppermint tea—his favorite—he holds a few inches in the air.

Tony makes a note, a physical thing that appears in his mind’s eye, to make sure they buy more, but for the time being, he glides past him to find something to eat. He may not be tired, but he is hungry, which, he concludes with hardly any contemplation, is a sensible result of having to maintain a super-soldier-esque physique and subsequent metabolism.

At first, Steve says nothing, likely focused on his tea, but when Tony drops some bread into the toaster and turns back his direction with the intent of getting jelly from the fridge, his mug thunks onto the counter with an audible gasp. “What the—” He blinks, as if he can’t believe his eyes, and then, _“Tony?”_

“The one and only,” Tony replies. He knows he probably looks at least a little different, more muscular, for one, and in comparison to the aches and pains of his pre-Extremis self—a persona he already feels so beautifully distant from—he _feels_ far, far better physically than that Tony could have ever imagined. However, Steve seems _focused_ , to say the least, on his face, which he searches with a kind of dedication that does nothing for Tony’s ego.

“Your—your _eyes,”_ he breathes. “What did you do?”

Tony blinks. What about his eyes?

He could summon the armor to examine his reflection in. It’s shiny enough, certainly, but it appears Extremis is a hard pill to swallow, so he decides to take things a touch slower and pulls out his phone—still in his pocket—to use the camera instead.

The sight that greets him is not one Tony anticipated but also isn’t terribly upsetting. It’s fitting, honestly, not that Steve would know why just yet.

His invention has turned his gaze arc reactor, repulsor, _unnatural_ blue, and they aren’t even glowing at the moment, not that Tony yet knows they can.

He hums, putting his phone away once more, and shrugs. “I’ve been playing with Extremis, and it has some interesting side effects, apparently.” At Steve’s confused expression, he elaborates. “It’s a project the guy behind the Mandarin was developing, and I’ve finetuned it a bit. Nothing that I can’t easily reverse, don’t worry,” he lies.

This version of Extremis isn’t entirely permanent, but it wouldn’t be pleasant or simple to try and remove. It doesn’t matter, anyway. He’s trying to make things less jarring for Steve, but he will _never_ have a reason to strip himself of this glory, this thing that places him above the rest of his life. Even now, he observes Steve with a detached amusement he’s careful not to show, certain it won’t be well-received. He can’t fathom not being at peace with his creation, but then again, he’s kept it secret for a long time. To an outsider, it might seem sudden, but Tony knows, of course, that this has been a gradual, logical process, needed to make the world a better place.

He smiles, blinding and showing perhaps more teeth than he normally does when he’s not talking to the press. “I’m still myself, just amped up a little. You can trust me.”

Tony has always been told he’s too smart for his own good, and he is already too far gone to recognize the second lie of the conversation.

Steve still looks a little unsure, a little startled, but Tony shoves down the surprisingly intense anger he feels that his team member, his _friend_ , might doubt his decision to take the plunge into something so obviously beneficial.

He is new and improved, the final evolution of the Iron Man suit, and even if they don’t like it at first, no one will take this away from him.

The team’s reactions to everything—the eyes, the internet at his beck and call, the suit built into his very bones—are . . . mixed.

Sam and Vision generally leave him alone where the topic is concerned. They see a potential asset, even if it is unprecedented, and Tony appreciates their open-mindedness.

Wanda and Steve are less accepting, perturbed by the idea of Tony willingly muddying his consciousness and body with something so inorganic and ready to say as much to him, and Tony understands, he does. He didn’t comprehend the scope of Extremis either before he finished the procedure, so it makes sense that they would find it strange. Ultimately, they let it slide too, and Tony can work with that.

Natasha is hostile. The first time she sees him breeze past—so much smoother, so much stronger now—she trains a pistol on his forehead, and Tony has to work for nearly twenty minutes to convince her to lower her guard. The _old_ version of him might have found that situation frightening, but that is one of the experiences that has quietly faded from his new existence. With the Extremis armor, he has given himself the option of a transparent face mask, and it is as easy as breathing to summon it while she remains none the wiser. It would be just as effortless to summon armor over the rest of his body in the event that she attacked him elsewhere.

He is untouchable, indomitable, and that knowledge buoys him.

“You’ve changed,” she insists when he prods about her—somewhat irritatingly— _poor_ attitude towards his metamorphosis, though she refuses to elaborate when he asks what she means, choosing instead to fix him with a cutting look. “Get rid of it, Tony. You deserve more than this,” she bites, and it is more satisfying than he thought to look down the bridge of his nose and tell a woman normally too feared to be rebuked _no._

She says he is above Extremis, but she hasn’t felt the thrill of being too powerful to knock down, of banishing fears that would have suffocated him in his lesser form. This is as good as it gets, and as long as she never tries to interfere, he allows the complaints to continue.

(But should she ever slip, ever forget her place in the utopia he is in the beginning stages of creating, he crunches the numbers and decides, factually speaking, it would not be too great of a loss to be down a Widow.)

Rhodey is the hardest to deal with, simply because Tony wants his friend to see his genius for what it is. He wants him to be just as excited as Tony is, and if he only asked, Tony would be perfectly willing to give him a version of Extremis for himself. Rhodey is dependable, staunch and unyielding even when everyone else abandons him, and they could do so _much_ together. He wants Rhodey to share in the beauty of what he’s created, but he tells him, like Natasha, that he thinks it will corrupt him. He doesn’t say it like that, naturally, squeezes his hand when he admits that he’s not a fan of the change and says “You’re not you, Tones.”

It still stings more than any of the others’ reluctance.

“The only reason you think I’m not me is because I’m _better_ than I ever was! I was falling apart! I was _failing_ , so I fixed myself! Fixing is what I _do_ , so why won’t you support me on this?” he shouts back, yanking his hand out of his grip as his eyes flare up. 

And Rhodey doesn’t look scared, even though Tony could hurt him, could _kill_ him with a particularly intense blast from a gauntlet he could summon at a moment’s notice—just sad.

“You were never any kind of failure,” he tries to soothe him. “I’ll always be there for you, but I’ve never lied to you when I think you’re making a bad decision, and I’m not going to start now. End all this before it gets any worse.”

He’s not begging, not by a long shot, but his earnestness, his genuine _concern_ , is latent in his tone.

It makes Tony _livid._

He has surpassed the need for council, surpassed being hurt by his own decisions. He is a _god_ , and he doesn’t need to hear this. He stalks away despite Rhodey’s protests before he loses control, expression downright murderous, and later, he gets a call from Pepper, asking if it’s true, what Rhodey called and told her, hoping she’d get through to him where no one else had.

He crushes the phone in his hand and watches emotionlessly as its mangled form falls to the ground.

Tony has always been told he’s too smart for his own good, but he can’t wrap his mind that contains a planet in its bounds around why anyone would think he is not in control.

He decides to go for a walk to clear his head. 

The air is cold. Tony didn’t bring a coat, but he doesn’t feel the chill. The night is dark. Tony strides fearlessly down unlit alleys, but he can see the scene before him in perfect detail. That’s why, when the mugger appears, he _could_ dodge, _could_ fly away and leave his attacker dumbfounded, but he’s looking to let off a little steam.

He whirls, silver repulsor forming on his hand, and nails the man in the chest at full power.

He knows he will die. He just doesn’t care.

What is one out of seven billion, anyway? It’s a fraction so infinitesimal it might as well be non-existent, and as Tony watches his body crumple with hardly a sound, he can’t bring himself to feel pity for the life he’s snuffed out on impulse. It doesn’t matter, isn’t real, isn’t important, just like the various pleas from those around him to stop, and he strides back to the tower, absentmindedly wiping the security footage from the cameras on the street.

The lines are drawn in the sand, so what does he have to lose? Those that will support him, or at the very least, not ask too many questions, have been established, and the rest, well—

Sentiment isn’t translated very well into binary, but perhaps out of stubbornness, Tony decides he will not physically touch the people the old Tony bore no ill will towards. Though he’s undeniably changed, he’s changed for the better.

(He _has!_ He _has_! He _has!)_

Extremis was always supposed to help, anyway, and people need things like Avengers—all of them—to keep them safe. There are other ways to stifle dissent, anyway, things like a careful eye kept on the Barton household, things like musing about what might happen if there was an accident with some of Clint’s old equipment left carelessly around his family.

Tony wouldn’t follow through, naturally, _probably_ , but by the look on Natasha’s face, she can’t be sure he’s not bluffing.

And with the world as his oyster, with his mind improved so drastically to tend with a fraction of the effort pre-Extremis Tony would’ve needed to his many projects to make it better, who says he can’t have a little fun?

Pre-Extremis Tony was trying to cut out alcohol altogether, but post-Extremis Tony enjoys cutting a path through a party and seeing people look at him with reverence his teammates don’t bother with these days. Post-Extremis Tony figures it’s only natural to drink at such events, and it’s not like he has Pepper waiting up on him anymore when attendees ask after his plans for the night.

Tony is truly _flourishing_ for the first time in his life, and anyone who says otherwise just doesn’t understand the intricacies of the simulations his mind constantly runs, weighing good with bad, pro with con, to find what will most benefit the masses.

If that means quietly doing away with the odd villain here and there, if that means tagging along on the Lagos mission and making sure it goes as it should, if that means ripping Helmut Zemo limb from limb for trying to dismantle what he has been kind enough to preserve, it is no more than is necessary for his duties as a hero.

Tony has always been told he’s too smart for his own good.

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked what you read, kudos and comments are always appreciated! Thanks for stopping by, and if you want to yell at me about this fic or anything else that strikes your fancy, I have a Marvel-only blog that can be found [here!](https://ambivalentmarvel.tumblr.com)


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